


I'll never get to heaven (with a love like yours)

by Iamnotbleeding



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Gay Jared Kleinman, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Smut, Slow Burn, kleinphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamnotbleeding/pseuds/Iamnotbleeding
Summary: Connor doesn't see much of a point in staying alive.He doesn't see a reason to end it all, either.  Not yet.Enter Jared Kleinman.Notorious asshole. Complete loser. Strangely attractive.He's the thorn in Connors side. And the last good thing he has.
Relationships: Jared Kleinman & Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman/Connor Murphy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. The stars in your city nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue.

Connor walks home. 

He always walks home.

Not because he isn't capable of driving. He'd never minded driving, really. Most days, he enjoys it. But he likes to walk home, no matter how tired he is, no matter how late it is. He walks, headphones around his neck, cigarette between his fingers, eyes on the sky. 

An hour ago, he was being fucked into Jared's mattress. He has the bruises and the scratches and the bite marks to prove it. He can still walk, surprisingly, but he's grown used to this. Being thrown to the curb in the middle of the night is a fairly regular occurrence. He gets fucked, lays down long enough to get his breath back, then leaves as soon as he can. Not exactly like he has much else to stick around for. 

Jared's good at many things. He's good at making Connor come undone. He's good at going rough and hard and showing no mercy. He's good at taunting, at saying the right thing at exactly the right time. Essentially, he's fucking good at… well, fucking. 

He isn't so good at dealing with genuine, real emotions. 

It usually seems like Jared doesn't care much about anything beyond the superficial. And if he does, he's exceptional at hiding it. Every time he's finished with Connor, he goes back to staring at his phone with a blank face as if nothing at all has happened. Even when Connor arrives, no matter how miserable or upset he seems, he'll never say a word about it. Or maybe he'll make some throwaway, self-deprecating joke in the awkward small talk that neither of them really want. Connor doesn't know. He's never paid enough attention to care. And he's pretty sure Jared doesn't want him to care, either. He's never showed much emotion other than lust or complete apathy. 

Connor's jealous of that. His life would be a lot fucking easier if he could shut down everything happening in his head, or just make it look like that from an outside perspective. Maybe then people would like him more. Or, at least, hate him less. He'd kill to have a reputation as clean and entirely unnoticeable as Jared's. 

It's funny, in a way. Two people so far apart on the social ladder are still as hopelessly lost as each other. Sure, Jared's low down, but Connor's so far off the ladder he's falling through the ground. There's no difference, when all of that is stripped away. There's no paranoid freak, no outcast nerd. There's skin and lips and something almost resembling love. 

If you squint at it without glasses on.

That's the reason he finds such comfort in the long walk home. He's invisible to the world in a way he longs to stay in forever. He isn't Connor, the reputation. He isn't hot, angry tears, he isn't spat out insults, he isn't a car crash that can't be ignored. He isn't the stoner, the freak, the kid who threw a printer. 

He's footsteps that echo along empty streets. He's shadows under streetlights. He's smoke from a cigarette. He's almost pitifully insignificant, and he enjoys it. The world has no need for him, just as he has no need for it. 

Fucking poetic bullshit. 

He's a stereotype walking the earth.

Self awareness is key to comedy. Shame he doesn't have any jokes to make. 

Jared would. That's the shit he thrives on. Shitty jokes to cover up any semblance of emotion. 

Not that he gives half a fuck about Jared's emotions. They're fuckbuddies, without the whole 'buddies' part. With all the shit Jared's given him over the years, they might as well be enemies. Enemies that happen to have sex a lot. Enemies that know such sweet, intimate things about each other, things that nobody else will ever know, and completely don't care. Connor doesn't care about Jared's body image issues. Jared doesn't care about Connors years worth of scars. 

They care about having some decent sex and not much else. 

Why Jared does it, he isn't sure. Probably just because he's a horny teenager that doesn't exactly have many other options, but Connors never bothered to ask.

He does it to feel a little less terrifyingly alone. He knows it's a shitty, toxic coping mechanism, but it's better than nothing. Better than staring at the ceiling with nothing behind his eyes as he tries to get high enough that he doesn't feel real.

Better than sucking off a guy twice his age for a couple of joints. 

What was he thinking about, again?

Oh, yeah. Walking. 

God, he'd be surprised if ADHD wasn't one of his hundreds of mental issues, with how distracted he gets. 

The walk home is part of the appeal of their covert little affair. The sex is obviously the main attraction, it would be ridiculous to say otherwise, but there's something oddly special about this that he appreciates it on an equal level. It's complete loneliness, after a night of close intimacy, with enough remaining of the high to keep it from feeling unbearable. It's like the world around him isn't entirely real, like he's still mentally there in Jared's bed, chest heaving with effort, half lidded eyes fixed on the ceiling, his whole body so sensitive that even the feeling of the sheets under him is too much. 

"You good?" 

Connor's always surprised by how quickly Jared slips out of his dominant persona. Makes him wonder how often he pretends to be something he isn't. 

"Yeah. Tired." 

Jared's self approving laugh is unnervingly attractive. Probably just the post-sex hormones. 

"Aww, couldn't handle it?" 

"I could handle it just fucking fine, asshole." He pulls himself up on weak arms, groaning at the ache. 

Jared laughs. Again.

"Don't act so fucking smug. You'd hurt too, if you just had a dick shoved in you."

"Not what you said before.  _ Oh, harder, please, I need it- _ " He mockingly whines, being cut off by a sharp glare from Connor. 

Maybe his violent reputation isn't always a terrible thing. 

"Dick." He grumbles, tugging on his discarded shirt and cringing at the feeling of sweat. Sex is fucking gross, but he'd rather feel sticky and disgusting than exposed. 

"Asshole." 

He pretends not to hear the affectionate softness in Jared's voice.

And then, that's it. 

They don't speak again. 

Connor dresses and leaves, and that takes him to now. 

Now that he thinks about it, he still feels kind of gross. 

He needs a fucking shower, if he has the energy to take one by the time he gets home.

Most nights he doesn't, but he holds up the hope that he'll actually look after himself, for once. Problem is, his mind doesn't control his body. He thinks about how he needs to go in the shower, or eat, or get up at all, but he just stays in bed until he can force himself to move. Whenever that happens. 

Maybe that's why Jared doesn't like him beyond a sexual level. What the fuck else is there to be attracted to? That's why he's still confused about why his voice was so… soft. Kind. 

Not kind. Just, nice. He guesses. 

Who knows. He's probably reading too far into things. He'd never entertain the thought of actually dating Jared, God no. 

Well. 

He isn't unattractive. 

He isn't too bad to be around. 

He's kind of funny, sometimes. When he isn't being an asshole. 

But their relationship is sexual only. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Besides, it's completely normal to fantasize about the feeling of Jared caring for him. That's part of sex, right? Being held and kissed and cared for and… 

No.

No, no, no. 

This isn't happening. 

This absolutely isn't fucking happening. 

There's no way in fucking hell he has a god damn stupid fucking crush on Jared fucking idiot Kleinman. 

He's an asshole! He's annoying! He's a total dick to anyone around him! 

Besides, they've barely even talked! They've had awkward, stilted conversations, followed by rough sex, followed by a little more awkward conversation. 

It just so happens that Jared's kind of charming, during those awkward conversations. And funny. 

But that's nothing. Most of their time spent together is fucking. 

Everyone thinks that the person they're having sex with is hot. And caring. And sensitive to boundaries. And has thoughts about seeing them smile and holding their hand.

And holy shit, this is worse than he thought. His dumb, fucked up brain has been falling for that asshole this whole time and never even thought to fucking tell him. 

He's never been so thankful to see his house. If he doesn't smoke in the next five minutes he's finally going to lose it. He'd rather die than admit that he has some kind of feelings for Jared fucking Kleinman.

* * *

He does end up taking that shower after all. 

His body still smells like Jared's fucking bedroom. 

God, he's fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with ANOTHER fic and I promise I'll actually work on this one. 
> 
> There will be references to sex, but no explicit smut.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I'm really excited to use Connor's perspective (if you haven't guessed, I'm entirely inspired by small talk) and work with this dynamic. And when I say slow burn, I mean SLOW. Be prepared :)
> 
> As always, @deh-essays on Tumblr, @lesbianconnormurphy on insta, follow for updates!  
> All comments are appreciated! LMK if you plan on reading this!


	2. Like the roadkill, I'm paralyzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can see kindness, and empathy, and fucking care. Jared cares about him. 
> 
> Oh God. 
> 
> That is not good.

Connors morning (really, his afternoon) begins with him rolling over, and letting out a groan. 

He doesn't really know why, until he shifts again and feels the harsh, shooting pain in his lower back that always screams out shitty decisions.

He groans again for good measure when he remembers exactly who that shitty decision was. 

The morning after, he always regrets it. He goes back as soon as Jared asks, but he still regrets it. 

That feeling of regret is oddly prominent today, though. He'd probably be able to figure out why, if he'd managed to sleep off the high from the night before. But he can still feel a haze around his mind, a soft fuzz to his thoughts, and while he isn't high, it's enough to make him a little more out of it than usual. 

Sitting up, he runs a hand through his tangled hair- wait. His  _ not _ tangled hair. His smooth, freshly washed hair. In fact, now he's thinking about it, while he absolutely smells like pot, the lightness of fruity body gel is in the air. 

Huh. Weird. He doesn't usually shower after Jared unless he feels particularly gross, and he doesn't remember enough to realise why that would be. 

Whatever. Probably not important. Least he got soft hair out of it. 

He leans against the headboard as he reaches for his phone, already preparing to spend his weekend watching shitty crime shows and alternating between the same three apps until it's time to go to school again- but, he sees a message. 

From  _ Jared _ . 

A picture of a hair tie on his chair, and  **_"assuming this is from your freakish girl hair, you want it back or can I use it as the world's worst cock ring?"_ **

He's about to text back, when he stops. 

He's blushing. 

He doesn't blush. 

Why is he blushing? 

Why is he kind of fucking  _ smiling _ ?

What's gotten into him? 

More importantly, what happened last night? 

" _ Don't even think about it.  _

_ Give it back Monday."  _

_ " _ **_Aww :( fine_ ** _ " _

_ "What happened last night _

_ I'm so fucked up" _

**_"?_ **

**_U didn't even smoke tho"_ **

Huh. Weird. Must've done it after he got home. Before the shower, presumably. 

Even weirder. 

**_"We fucked_ **

**_(Incredible as always thanks to urs truly ;))_ **

**_Then u left_ **

**_🤷_ **

**_Idk what u want me to say bro"_ **

Okay. So nothing notably different happened. 

Something happened between sex with Jared and falling asleep and he has absolutely no idea what it is. 

Which was probably intentional. 

The only times he gets high enough that he can feel it the morning after is when he wants to forget. 

Well, sometimes he gets high for fun. But not enough that he blacks out entirely. 

That's for the bad nights. 

That's for the nights he doesn't want to remember. The nights he wishes didn't exist. The nights after he's been in a fight with his parents for something so petty he can't remember it, the nights after he's screamed at Zoe over nothing and broke down sobbing afterwards, the nights after he's searched for any possible answer and come back with nothing but proof that he's the only problem.

The nights where he smokes and smokes and smokes until he’s too exhausted to keep going. 

Other nights, he just wants the buzz, the fuzzy edge to his overly sharp thoughts. The ability to zone out without falling into a depressive pit, or to fall asleep without hours of trying. 

But if it had been one of those nights, he wouldn't still feel it. He would remember what happened. 

Maybe he just got carried away. 

Whatever. 

He's still tired, so it's time to brave his family to go to the kitchen for coffee. 

* * *

Connor doesn't know he's been holding his breath until he sighs with relief. 

The only person he can see as he walks into the kitchen is his mom. Or Cynthia. Whatever he decides to call her always depends on his mood, but she's definitely his favourite family member to talk to, even if her giving a shit is mostly performative. At least she's putting in the effort to pretend. 

"Someone must have had a late night." If Connor wasn't still high, he'd probably be reacting far worse to that. 

"You know I can't sleep, mom." 

Thankfully, it's one of those days. 

She gives him a knowing look as he's heading to the coffee machine, and he knows he's been caught. 

"Okay, fine, I was seeing a friend."

Another look. 

Christ, she really does know his patterns. 

"Jared. Not fucking  _ him _ , you know I haven't seen him."

"Connor, you know you can be honest with-" 

"I am being fucking honest." He snaps back, clenching his hand into a fist by his side and forcing himself to draw in a deep breath. As much as he insists that nothing she's made him do has helped, he's still picked up a couple useful things. 

And being high doesn't exactly hurt his ability to keep himself in check. 

They stay in silence. 

Connor starts to hum quietly, because he fucking hates silence. 

He doesn't know why. Maybe awkwardness, or some shit about how his thoughts get louder when there's no sound to focus on. It's something like that. 

That's for a therapist to figure out. Not him.

"So, did you have fun?" She asks carefully, in the exact voice he always hears from concerned adults that treat him like a toddler, and Connor isn't sure if she's joking or not. Surely, it's pretty fucking obvious what he does for the couple hours he leaves the house. It has to be. What else could he be doing? 

"Yeah. We ordered pizza and shit. Just watched a movie together."

"Oh. Well, I’m sure that was nice.” 

Okay, yeah. She definitely knows. 

“Mhm. It was.”

If there’s one thing Connor has to like about himself, it’s being able to end a conversation. He’s bad at almost everything he tries, but he’s damn good at being a cold, abrupt asshole. 

He starts to hum again, and hopes she won’t interrupt this time.

* * *

The weekend goes, thankfully, exactly as Connor had hoped. 

He stays in bed, barely changes the TV channel, and feels shitty and unproductive but does nothing to rectify that. 

For a moment, he considers it, considers actually attempting to work, or at least pretend to while he’s really just having the closest he can get to fun, but he can’t will himself to ask. 

Probably a good thing, when he realizes that he feels shitty for other reasons once he wakes up on Sunday. His head is pounding, which isn't entirely unusual, but he also absolutely feels like puking, and he groans just the same as he did the day before because the only explanation is that he's sick. 

All he can do is hope it goes away. 

"What's wrong, Connor? You've barely eaten." 

Yeah, it didn't go away. 

He's spent all of dinner staring blankly at his plate, trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. Because there's no way in hell he's going to school like this, but he's used feeling sick as an excuse so many times that there's no way they'd believe him. 

But he doesn't have many other options. 

"I'm sick." He says simply, still not looking up. The weekend has passed without incident, and he really doesn't want to fuck that up. 

Zoe is the first to respond, and Connor swears he can hear the way her eyes roll. "Yeah, okay. Sure you are." 

Don't snap. That's easy enough, right? He has enough self control to stop himself from snapping, he has to. 

"Fucking shut up." Oh, shit. This won't turn out well. "I already feel like total shit, I don't need-"

"Connor, you aren't pulling this again. You're going to school." Great, of fucking course Larry has to be the one to say it. Sure, he's had yelling matches with Cynthia, but Larry really gets under his fucking skin. 

"This isn't a fucking excuse! I just feel fucking sick! Can't I just-" 

"You're going, and that's final."

Connor isn't Connor again until he's staring up at his bedroom ceiling blankly, flooded with so much guilt that part of him wants to jump out of his window and never look back. 

It happens scarily often, the fighting. He doesn't want it to. He doesn't try to. He wants to stop himself, but once he's lost grip, there's no grabbing hold again. God, he fucking wishes he could. Really, all he can do is fall, and hope that he'll hit the ground soon. 

He's startled out of another spiral when there's a knock at his door, and it's pushed open by Zoe. 

There's fear in her eyes, and he hates himself for it. His own sister is terrified of him, and it's his fault. 

"Dad told me to tell you that we have to walk tomorrow."

Christ, really? He couldn’t be more obvious about hating him if he got it tattoed across his fucking forehead. "Asshole." 

"Jeez, I'm not the one that-"

"No, I know. I mean him. Not you." 

There’s that silence again. She’s staring at the ground, eyebrows firmly knitted together in a way that Connor recognizes from himself. The look of someone that knows what they want to say, but can't string the words together in a way that feels right. 

They used to be so close, when they were kids, though even then you’d never expect it. Zoe was always the type to make friends with anyone she spoke to, and Connor was the kid that ate lunch alone. But she never minded letting him hang out with her friends, and he never minded being around girls all the time. In fact, he actively welcomed it- the boys in his class either made fun of him, or made him more nervous than usual. Zoe’s friends were kind, and sweet, and would paint his nails even though he knew his dad would make him take it off as soon as he saw. 

They still had fun alone, too. Endless days were spent playing pretend and making pillow forts, and Connor never truly felt like he was missing out on much without having friends of his own.

Until they grew up.

Connor hit the age where he began to hate everyone and everything, including his family. Zoe stopped talking to him when her friends were around. 

He got worse, both socially and mentally, while she could only seem to get better, and she soon became his sister instead of his friend. 

He knows it’s his fault that they’re so distant now. He knows he’s hurt her in more ways than he could ever make up for. The apology is always on the tip of his tongue, but somehow never gets out. 

“I’m sorry.”

And when it does, it’s never enough. It never will be.

“Yeah. Right.”

She leaves before she can say what she was thinking about. 

_ Before I can snap,  _ he thinks. 

And that bounces around his thoughts until he finally falls asleep. 

* * *

Nothing happens on the walk to school the next morning. 

Nothing ever does. 

Connor’s pretty sure the only reason they still walk together is because their parents think he’d just sneak off and get high, and he can’t say he blames them, because he probably would. 

It's kind of funny, to him, that they think she's some perfect angel. She's a hell of a lot better than him, but she absolutely isn't innocent. 

The few times that they haven't been at each others throats in the past year was when they smoked together. 

The time he remembers most is the closest they've been in a long time. She had just found out that a guy she had been talking to for months was dating another girl without ever telling her, and she was nothing short of heartbroken. Connor could hear her crying from his room, and 20 minutes later, she was sat on his bed beside him, still sniffling occasionally as she vented out her frustrations between shallow hits of weed. 

He's never told anyone. Not even when he gets pissed off at her beyond rationality, he still refuses to tell their parents. She's told them about the times he smokes and tries to hide it, but he refuses to do the same. 

A part of him hopes she's noticed. 

* * *

Connors bleary eyes open to the sight of the blinding lights of the nurses office, and the first thing he does is internally curse at Fucking Larry, because he knew damn well that he was sick. 

He can't smell or taste puke, which is probably a good thing. 

But he  _ can  _ hear a horribly familiar voice in the room, that somehow makes his heart drop and soar at the same time. 

"No, I don't know what happened. We were in class, then I saw his head hit the desk."

Oh, shit. Why the fuck is Jared here? 

This has to be some weird, mid-class dream. Jared would absolutely never give enough of a shit to come to the fucking nurses office with him. 

"No, not hard enough to hurt. He's looked kinda off all day. Like, worse than usual, even for him." 

God, someone remind him why he sleeps with this asshole?

"Just, really pale and tired. And normally he'll at least talk a little. Or, like, acknowledge me at all. But he didn't even look at me, and that's always a bad sign." 

Wait, what? Since when did Jared know enough about him to know what's normal? Does he really pay that much attention to him? Does he- 

"Oh, Connor, you're back with us." 

Shit. Should've left his eyes shut. 

"Clearly someone didn't get enough beauty sleep."

"Fuck off, asshole." 

"Guess I won't drive you home then, dickwad." 

The nurse promptly sends Jared outside, so she can 'check him over in private', which is just code for ‘Jared’s fucking annoying'. 

* * *

They're walking out of school when Connor feels his body go cold. He immediately stops in his tracks, because he knows exactly what that feeling means, and his vision is already starting to white out. He can vaguely hear the buzz of Jared's voice, but it's completely covered up by a high-pitched squeal and the fuzz of white noise, like there are noise cancelling headphones glued to his ears. 

He fumbles with his hand as he tries to grab onto something to steady him, panic already flooding him, because he knows he's about to pass out but he can't stop it and he feels like throwing up which makes the whole thing even worse and now he can't even find anything to hold himself up with and- 

And. 

Connor's whole body stiffens, as Jared's arms wrap around him to hold him up. 

The whole mystery of what happened after their hookup that weekend is swiftly discovered. 

He's absolutely falling for Jared. 

In both ways, apparently. 

He comes to for the second time sitting against a wall, already missing the sweet sting of Jared's hands on him as he sees him crouched in front of him. 

Connor's pretty sure he's about to pass out for the third time when he realizes what the look on his face is. Because Jared Fucking Kleinman, the renowned careless asshole, the borderline fuckboy, the same guy that calls him every insult in the book, has a softness in his eyes that he can only describe as actual, genuine fucking  _ concern _ . 

And for a moment, one single, fleeting, endless moment, their eyes meet. And Connor can see everything that he thought Jared wasn't. He can see kindness, and empathy, and fucking  _ care _ . Jared cares about him. 

Oh God. 

That is not good. 

They were only ever meant to be casual. They were strangers having sex in secret that nobody was ever meant to find out about, and now he’s somehow tricked Jared into thinking he’s something he isn’t. Because Connor Murphy, the real, completely stripped down, no-bullshit Connor Murphy isn’t someone to be cared about. He's just one of those people that was made to never be loved. He's never done anything but hurt anyone that tries to get close to him, why should he believe Jared would be any different? 

He's a terrible fucking person, and an even worse one for managing to convince Jared he's anything but.

“Get the fuck away from me.” He snaps, slipping on the cold facade just as easily as he always does. 

Maybe there are perks to being a manipulative asshole after all.

"What?" 

"I told you, fuck off." 

"Jesus fucking Christ, alright, fine. I was just trying to help you." Thankfully, Jared backs off. 

Well, maybe not thankfully, because now Jared looks like he hates him. And as much as he wants that, wants to destroy any chance of attachment before it can truly form, he can't pretend it doesn't hurt. 

“Yeah, and I don’t need your fucking help. So.”

“You just passed out twice, but fine, sure, you’re totally okay and you don’t need any help.”   
  


“Leave me the fuck alone. We aren’t fucking friends. We aren’t fucking  _ anything _ . All we are and all we’re ever gonna be is a hookup. So do both of us a favor and don’t talk to me unless you’re gonna fuck me.” He tries to make it sound like a threat, he really does, but it all comes out so wrong. He sounds… tired. Because he is, really, but he doesn’t want Jared to know that. Shit. He hopes to god he puts it down to him being sick. 

He can’t even look into Jared’s eyes as he stands. He doesn’t know what the response will be, and he doesn’t want to. After all, ignorance is bliss, right? And he’d kill for a little bliss right now. 

“Connor?”

Connor tries to speed up, but his feet stop for him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t fucking look at him. Just walk away. Walk away. Why can’t he fucking walk away? He’s screaming at his body to start moving, but it isn’t listening. 

“Get home safe.”

Well, that fixed it. His body kicks itself into overdrive like a lagging computer, practically sprinting down the hall, and he isn’t sure if the pounding in his ears is his feet or his heart. 

* * *

No matter how much his head hurts, Connor won’t walk home without his headphones on as loud as they can go. He doesn’t want to think, not about Jared, not about being sick, not about anything apart from how fucking good this song is. 

Halfway there, he digs his hand into his pocket- wait, when did he put a hair tie in there? He pulls out the slip of paper beside it, an uneven heart scribbled onto it.

_ “For you and your long ass hair p.s. you’d be cute with a bun ;)” _

No matter how exhausted he is, he doesn’t sleep until 3am, until his search history is filled with  _ is cute platonic _ , and his head is filled with smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with an update! Finally! Everyone say hi to the Murphys!  
> Tune in next time for more sexual tension and a certain special acquaintance ;)


End file.
